


TFP: The Coffin Reveals All,  or F*ck That Episode, Here’s What Really Happened.

by mirajanihiggins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 17:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirajanihiggins/pseuds/mirajanihiggins
Summary: Everyone knows what happened at Sherrinford that day...or do they? Amazing how some things can short-circuit the narrative.





	TFP: The Coffin Reveals All,  or F*ck That Episode, Here’s What Really Happened.

 

They stood together, focused on examining the plain coffin with the brass plaque that read, simply: I Love You. If they guessed this one wrong, someone was going to die. Explosively.

 

Eurus’s face loomed menacingly on the huge monitor overhead.

 

“So who loves you? I'm assuming it's not a long list?” Mycroft inquired, archly. Sherlock had always _hated_ that tone of voice and muttered, “Shut up, Fatcroft.”

  
“Irene Adler?” John inquired, half-hopeful and fully self-dismissive.

  
Sherlock snorted delicately. “Don't be ridiculous, look at the coffin. Unmarried, practical about death. Alone.” He looked away and whispered, “Just like me, only shorter.”  


John snapped his fingers. “Molly.”

  
Sherlock noded sagely. “Molly Hooper.”

 

Unseen, Eurus rolled her eyes.

 

He looked up at the screen above their heads. “Connect me with Molly Hooper, Eurus. NOW!”

 

She smirked at him. “Is that an _order_ , Sherlock? _You’re_ not the one in charge now, little brother. _I_ am. And I’m going to ask you; is _this_ your final answer?”

 

John laid a hand on Sherlock’s upper arm. The feel of it sent an unexpected thrill down Sherlock’s body. _Adrenaline. It must be. “_ Be careful, Sherlock. It might be a trap. She’s crazy,” he hissed, close to Sherlock’s ear. _God, that se_ _n_ _t_ _a wave of_ _gooseflesh…_

 

“ _I’m_ crazy?” Eurus, said, incredulously. “You think _I’m_ the crazy one! Look at the three of you! I mean, Sherlock’s about to call a woman he hardly knows  to tell her he loves her, and you think...God! Men! You’re all idiots!” She threw back her head in exasperation.

 

The three men looked at each other incredulously. 

 

“She’s lost it,” Mycroft lamented.

 

“She’s barmy!” John asserted.

 

“She’s crazy like a fox,” Sherlock pronounced. 

 

Eurus’ visage gazed down on the three. She smiled. “That’s my good boy, Sherlock. You always were my favorite. Now, choose again. Your deductions were more right than you think.”

 

Sherlock paused, closing his eyes as his mind traipse d through his  Mind  Palace, searching for something he might have missed. It could be a fruitless search. For all he knew, the answer was right in front of him…

 

...or right beside him.  _Short, alone, practical, unmarried…_

 

“You _sure_ it couldn’t be Irene?” John inquired, dubiously. “She is short...and single...”

 

A light went on inside Sherlock’s brain, and that light was a searchlight, leading him to...

 

“John Watson,” Sherlock said, his lips savoring the words.

 

John blinked in confusion. “Sherlock? What…?

 

“Thing about the pre-requisites, John. Who else fits, besides a pathologist?” Sherlock asked, his voice unusually gentle.

 

John’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know...”

 

“A physician,” Mycroft intoned, dramatically. Sherlock shot him a look, but said nothing.

 

Looking back and forth between the brothers, John stated, “But, that makes no sense. I mean, sure, I’m below average height, unmarried (now), and practical about a  _lot_ of things, but isn’t this supposed to be about someone Sherlock loves?”

 

“Or, someone who loves _Sherlock_ ,” Mycroft interjected. “And whom might that be, Dr. Watson?” He raised one eyebrow speculatively.

 

Overhead, Eurus hovered expectantly.

 

“Well, I mean, either way you look at it, it _can’t_ be _me_ ,” John protested, as he looked over at Sherlock, puzzled by the shy, lop-sided smile on that handsome face. He paused, then stammered, “Can it?”

 

“Whenever someone has assumed we are a couple, have I ever denied it?” Sherlock asked, by way of response. The two men gazed into each other’s eyes silently until Eurus could stand it no more.

 

“Good Lord, people! I can’t take this anymore!” She hollered. “John Watson, you incredible idiot, Sherlock is in love with you! Sherlock, you hyper-intelligent carrot, John practically worships the ground you walk on! He only got married because you had _supposedly_ died! And you, Mycroft! Why didn’t you make sure these two got together without _my_ intervention? God!” She shook her head in disgust. “Morons!”

 

Mycroft stared up at Eurus in disbelief. He spread his arms and said, “You did... _all this_ ...just because of  _Sherlock_ ?”

 

Eurus leaned in, staring down at Mycroft like a falcon eyeing her prey. “I told you, didn’t I, big brother? I said I would take care of Sherlock...”

 

“’The East Wind is coming...coming for you,’” Mycroft repeated the familiar phrase.

 

“You thought that I would _hurt_ by baby brother, Mycroft?” Eurus scoffed. “You’ve hurt him more than I ever have!”

 

“YOU KILLED HIS BEST FRIEND!” Mycroft yelled, pointing at Sherlock. “You drowned him in the well…!”

 

“HE WAS DEAD WHEN I FOUND HIM! I RAN FOR HELP!” she yelled back. “No one would believe me! ‘How did you know where the body was?’ they asked me. I _told_ them I heard him yelling, but they said I couldn’t hear him, all the way down there, but I did!” She sat back, her face sullen.

 

“You burned down the manor!” Mycroft accused her. “With us in it!”

 

“That wasn’t even me! It was Sherlock! He was experimenting again and he set fire to the drapes BY ACCIDENT!” She corrected him. “I took the blame because I didn’t want him to get into trouble!”

 

Sherlock’s face registered total shock. “I...I don’t remember...”

 

Her face softening, Eurus said, “Of course you don’t Sherlock. You were  _traumatized_ about it. Always so sensitive, my baby brother...I couldn’t bear for you to carry that with you. Little did I know it would land me in this  _hellhole_ !” 

 

She whispered, conspiratorially, “Uncle Rudy never really liked me. Thought I was dangerous, ‘too smart for my own good’, he said. Hmph!” She snorted in derision. “I caught him wearing Mummy’s evening gown and jewelry one night they were out. He made me promise not to tell. When he decided to have me committed, I let the cat out.” She smirked. “ He c alled  _me_ an oddball!”

 

“Why don’t I remember anything?” Sherlock asked, wonderingly. John just looked at him, confused.

 

“Do you remember that shrink Mummy had you go see? No?” she asked as he shook his head. “He was a famous hynotherapist. I researched him when I could at Sherrinford. He claimed he could rewrite memories in traumatized patients, remove the negative stimulus to allow the patient to continue life as thought nothing had happened.” She shot Mycroft a baleful look. “Everything got blamed on _me_ because I was the ‘strange’ one. I was alone. Even Sherlock had friends, but not me. Sherlock was my only friend.” She looked down kindly upon her younger brother. “I never blamed you, Sherlock. You were so young in your mind, unlike me. I had to protect you, don’t you see, and I resolved, when Uncle Rudy put me in here, that I would always protect you and make sure you were safe and happy.”

 

“Moriarty,” Sherlock said. It was as much an accusation as a name.

 

“Ah, yes, James Moriarty,” she sighed. “So easily led, so malleable. He thought he was a genius. I found him to be narcissistic and eccentric. You see, I _know_ you, Sherlock, and I knew that you would need constant mental challenges in order to be happy. So, I ‘persuaded’ him that you were his nemesis and that he should ‘play’ with you.”

 

“He. Killed. People,” Sherlock gritted out.

 

“I know. That _wasn’t_ part of the plan. He was just supposed to _tease_ you, tempt you into the game. No one else should have been involved.” She sighed. “In fact, I programmed in a failsafe. I told him that, if he ever decided to kill you or your friend,” she nodded toward John, who blinked in sudden comprehension, ”that he should kill _himself_ instead.”

 

John sagged. Sherlock caught him. “So, all those years  apart ...all that pain..,” he muttered.

 

“Were for nothing. Jim was programmed to kill himself to save Sherlock. If I had known about the _other_ killings, I would have arranged for him to die earlier, but Mycroft limited my access to any and all news, and what little I got of Sherlock was grudgingly given.” She glared at Mycroft. “Shithead.”

 

Mycroft looked stricken.

 

Sherlock was furious. “What about this appalling game of yours, Eurus? You’ve killed five people today  _alone_ , just to get John and me together? I don’t believe it!” 

 

Eurus laughed. It was the sound of genuine amusement. “ _I_ haven’t killed  _anyone_ !”

 

John looked up, his eyes blazing. “The Garridebs brothers! We saw them fall!”

 

Eurus’ eyes were crinkled with barely-suppressed laughter. “They landed in a net twenty feet below. You didn’t even look! What great detectives!” She giggled uncontrollably. “The authorities were waiting for them down below. The guilty party confessed, just so he could be in a nice, safe jail cell!

 

“The Warden’s wife!” Mycroft yelled, his face reddening with rage. “You shot her yourself! We all saw you!”

 

Still giggling, Eurus shook her finger at him in reproach. “Now, Mycroft, when will you ever learn not to trust everything you see and hear?”

 

“It was staged,” Sherlock stated calmly, his brow furrowed. “But, why?”

 

“Oh, a little bit of theatre,” she replied, airily. “You see, the Warden was not who he was pretending to be. So moral and upright...did you know that he had attempted to sexually assault me _several_ times during my stay here? THIS one,” she jerked her head toward Mycroft, “didn’t bother to check on the Warden’s record, or he would have found that the man was a known sexual molester and wife abuser.  When I told his wife what I was planning, she was all-in. So, you see,” she said, checking her nails casually, “we set up this little charade to torment _him_ and to soften _you_ two imbeciles up so you would recognize your true feelings for each other.” She shrugged. “His own guilt got the better of him and he shot himself, still claiming to the end that he was being noble.” She spat. “He knew his game was up. I was going to turn him over to Mycroft next visit anyway.” She smiled proudly.

 

“And the wife?” John choked out, his face gone pale.

 

“As I said, a bit of theatre. Something to shock you all to your senses and get a little revenge for what her husband had done to her. She’s alive and well, I can assure you, and probably planning her husband’s funeral about now. She’ll get a nice pension from it, and she won’t have to cover those bruises any more.”

 

John sank to his knees at Sherlock’s side. Mycroft didn’t look much better. 

 

“So, what now?” Sherlock asked, standing tall before his older sister. “More games, sister? More torments for us, or are you finished, finally?”

 

“Sherlock,” she sighed, “it was never about hurting you, or Mycroft, or ruining anyone’s life. I took this opportunity to right the scales on some old wrongs, that’s all. I only ever wanted the best for you, Sherlock. I’m not a murderer, I’m not a psychopath...”

 

“You’re a high-functioning sociopath,” Sherlock finished for her.

 

“God, is that where you got it from, Sherlock?” John asked, his voice shaky with shock. “You and she…?”

 

“OH, MY GOD, NO!” Eurus shouted, her expression one of horror. “Not Sherlock! He’s perfectly normal, other than a severe case of ADHD! He’s _always_ been socially awkward, but not sociopathic!”

 

“No, John,” Sherlock said, his voice compassionate. “My _sister_ is the sociopath. I just...learned how to act like one.” He looked up at her, tears glittering in his eyes. “You never did anything wrong, Eurus. You were just...clueless about certain things. You wanted fairness and justice but didn’t know how to get them.  The family treated you shamelessly. I...remember.” He shook his head and whispered, “I remember.”

 

Mycroft sank into a chair. “But, the Warden...he did die at your hands, Eurus.”

 

“No, brother dear, he died by his own hand. Other than what I have told you, there is no film verification of this entire encounter. Will you turn me in, Mycroft? Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough for other people’s sins?” she plead. Her eyes were sad. “I may be a sociopath, but even sociopaths can love certain people. I’ve always loved my family, even when they turned their backs on me.”

 

Leaning forward, Mycroft placed his head in his hands. “Eurus, they didn’t turn their backs on you. I...I told them that you had died, so they wouldn’t have to suffer any more.”

 

“Oh, Mykie,” Eurus said, without a trace of reproach. “Why? I would have _loved_ to see them, even Uncle Rudy.” She sighed. “He was right. I’ m not well-suited to the ‘real world’. My methods are both too straightforward and too machiavellian for most people, as you have seen. The guilty Garrideb would never have confessed if I had not...’persuaded’ him.” Her lips flat-lined in consternation. “I’ve seen the world out there through the internet. I don’t think I would be a good fit. Maybe I might end up being like Jim.” She shuddered in distaste. “Besides, there are too many _goldfish_ out there. I would probably lose my mind.”

 

John looked up at Sherlock wordlessly. Sherlock knelt next to him and wrapped his long arms around John’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, John. You should  _never_ have been involved in all of this.”

 

“NO! He _needed_ to be involved,” Eurus corrected him. “Without a major shock to the system, the two of you would _never_ have looked more closely at your relationship. John...”

 

John looked up, eyes wide.

 

“...take care of my little brother, will you? I really don’t think Mycroft is up to it. He could never keep up with my rambunctious little brother!” She smiled indulgently down at them. “And, Sherlock...”

 

Sherlock looked up, his face an unreadable mask. 

 

“John is a good match for you. I’ve watched you two together; I’m so happy you’ve found someone who cares so much about you. You need that. Me,” she shrugged, “I’m used to being alone now, but it would be so nice if you could come visit me sometimes? Bring Mum and Daddy?”

 

Sherlock nodded, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I will, Eurus. Maybe we can play violin together. You may see that I’ve improved since you first taught me.”

 

“Wait a minute!” Mycroft cried out. He pointed accusingly at Eurus. “You said you murdered your lover..!”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mycroft, I said that to scare off the Warden! It never happened! I like to intimidate people that way: they leave me alone, and I find that I prefer it that way,” she smiled, but there was a touch of annoyance in it. “Still determined to make me the villain, hmm? Go talk to Uncle Rudy. Get him drunk, he’ll tell you everything.”

 

“Sherlock,” John murmured, grabbing his coat lapel. Sherlock looked down and saw, in John’s eyes, something he’d wanted to see there for a long time. He dipped his head down and kissed John, receiving as good as he gave. When their lips parted, Sherlock whispered, “She’s right, John. I love you. I know you may not feel the same, but I can wait...”

 

“No need,” John whispered back. “No need at all.” Their lips met again, this time refusing to be parted until Eurus cleared her throat. 

 

“Uh, Sherlock? John? Sorry to interrupt, after all I’ve had to do to get you to this point, but the authorities are on their way and I have to clean up a bit. Mycroft...”

 

Mycroft looked up, still distraught.

 

“You can do what you think is right. If anything, I think you’re possibly more morally compromised than I am, so what you’ll do is anyone’s guess. Just talk to Uncle Rudy first, okay? Do that for me. Please.” Her eyes gazed into his and he nodded. “Good. Meanwhile, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Sherlock, just as I have always tried to do! Love you!” She winked at him and was gone.

 

Suddenly, all the doors slid open at once and fresh air wafted into the room that had become stale with sweat and tension. Sherlock assisted John to his feet, held him close and kissed his forehead before they staggered out of the room. “Coming, Mycroft?” he called back.

 

Mycroft nodded, then heaved himself out of his chair. With one last look up at the now-empty screen, he shook his head as if to clear it and, in true Holmesian fashion, drew himself upright, composed himself, and strode unsteadily out the door after his brother. At the door, he paused, nodded at the screen as if in approval, then walked away.


End file.
